


see these eyes so green

by blue_blue_electricblue



Series: unironic ironic elias/reader [7]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Arguments, Crack Treated Seriously, Other, Past Relationship(s), death threats that are kinda romantic?, jonah magnus being a charming dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24309127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_blue_electricblue/pseuds/blue_blue_electricblue
Summary: You run into a familiar face-- but the face, it seems, is the only thing that's familiar.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus/Reader, Elias Bouchard/Reader, Original Elias Bouchard/Reader
Series: unironic ironic elias/reader [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754923
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69





	see these eyes so green

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/archivistpoems/status/1257883959398223877?s=20) tweet,,,, i had a lot of fun w this ngl
> 
> check out [@archivistpoems](https://twitter.com/archivistpoems) on twitter!!! thank u for the inspiration, el!!

You have a crush on Elias Bouchard.

Or rather, you  _ used _ to have a crush on Elias Bouchard. Years and years and years ago, back when you had met him when you stumbled into the Archives to give a statement about some trauma that you have thoroughly repressed. You were shaking, he passed you his blunt, and you stayed in touch for a little while after that.

See, looks-wise, the man who handed you some ‘medicinal marujuana’ to ‘help with your anxiety’ was  _ exactly _ your type. Short, thin, dark eyes, a little cocky, a big, broad grin. Bit of a flat ass but it kept the whole burnout/stoner aesthetic he was going for, so it was almost  _ cute _ on him.

You never tried anything romantic with him, of course. For one, you had other things to do besides bum around the Magnus Institute all day, no matter how often you joked around with Elias. For another, no matter how cute he was, no matter how sweetly he smiled and how lovely his boisterous laugh, he just wasn’t… he wasn’t quite your type. Personality-wise, at least. You prefered mysterious with a side of asshole.

Not that he was interested in anything serious, either. He was quite happy to bounce around and laugh at life and put off work.

It was… cute. You allowed yourself to be charmed, and yes, you did fuck him a few times, and you wound up with a mild crush on Elias Bouchard.

You fell out of contact after a few years, and you didn’t really know what had happened to him.

Until about thirty seconds ago.

See, you caught a glimpse of a Hot Older Man™ in the cafe across the street, and allowed yourself the indulgence of a brief fantasy of a torrid affair with this stranger, because again, he was a Hot Older Man, and you were bored, and it’s not like walking required that much focus.

This was an incorrect assumption to make as it resulted in you walking straight into someone and falling on your ass.

“I understand that it might be more difficult for some people,” a voice above you drawls, “but  _ do _ keep in mind that in a public space, it is only courteous to keep an eye out and  _ watch where you’re going. _ ”

Your head snaps up. You  _ know _ that voice.

“ _ Elias? _ ” you ask incredulously to the  _ hot fucking older man. _ “Elias  _ Bouchard? _ ”

Something…  _ changes _ in his demeanor. A brief flicker across his face as his eyes narrow, his eyebrows furrow, his lip curls in frustration. It’s a nasty look, one of disdain and impatience.

All you can think is  _ Elias never made that face. _

But then it’s gone, and he’s smiling amiably and extending a hand to help you off the ground.

“Bluebird,” he says as he pulls you up. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it.”

You flush at the nickname. “A-ah, yeah, it has. How… are you?”

“I’m well. The years have been good to me, I think.”

_ Fuck yeah they’ve been, _ you think, allowing your gaze to trail up and down his body. He’s still thin, he’s still handsome, (he’s still short), he’s still confident, but now… now, there’s something sharper about him, in his three piece suit, in his leather gloves and gold Rolex. There’s something  _ dangerous _ about him hovering just beneath the surface. Something that says  _ run away now if you know what’s good for you. _

It’s almost unbearably sexy.

Elias has gone from cute, goofy stoner to absurdly rich, powerful, and attractive silver fox in a matter of a little over ten years, and right now his smile is getting sharper as he looks up at you, as it feels like he almost looks  _ through _ you, and—

“Why don’t I give you my number,” he says. “I’m afraid I can’t be late for work, but I’d love to catch up sometime, Bluebird.”

“I’m not even wearing any blue, you can stop it with the nickname,” you say, mostly to have something to say as you fumble to hand over your phone to him as quickly as possible. “It’s been  _ ages _ since anyone called me that.”

“You’re right,” he says as he strips off his gloves, and  _ god _ if that isn’t sexier than any porn, “the years haven’t been as good to you as they’ve been to me. I should start calling you Blue Jay instead.”

“Because of course, we all know that once bluebirds reach a certain age, they crawl into their wings to form a cocoon and emerge a month later having metamorphosed onto the next, older stage of their lifecycle, the blue jay.”

“Leave the sarcasm to the people who are actually witty,” he responds as he hands you our phone back, but there’s no bite in it. Or, there  _ is _ a bite on it, and a pretty significant one at that, but it’s not nearly as bad as it could be. “And call me sometime. I’d love to meet up for coffee some time. Good seeing you, Bluebird. Let’s stay in touch this time.”

And then, like a whirlwind, he breezes out of your life again, and you’re left standing in the street, staring at where he vanished into the crowd.

As you stare after him, three things occur to you.

  1. Elias Bouchard never was so cutting in his entire life.
  2. Elias Bouchard hated expensive clothes and avoided wearing them at all costs.
  3. Elias Bouchard had dark eyes.



You were sure about that last one. You had spent a lot of time gazing into them as he laughed.

The man who just walked away from you had the sharpest and  _ greenest _ glare you had ever seen.

* * *

It’s the chattering on about Excel of all things that finally sets you off.

You’d been in the cafe for ten minutes and Elias spent five of those waxing poetic about spreadsheets.

“Look, who are you?” you find yourself saying, and you clap a hand over your mouth. You hadn’t meant to let that slip out, but now that it’s out— 

Elias stops dead in his little monologue and looks at you.

_ Through you through you through you he’s looking  _ **_through you—_ **

Then he laughs. “Bluebird, what are you—”

“ _ Stop _ calling me that!” you hiss, trying not to draw attention to yourself. “ _ Elias _ called me that. And you’re  _ not _ Elias. Elias would rather die than be caught in a cafe in a  _ Valentino suit. _ Elias doesn’t do some bullshit fake smile. Elias laughs loud and grins, and Elias doesn’t know shit about Excel, and Elias isn’t that witty or sarcastic because bless him but Elias is kinda stupid, but he’s sweet and earnest and  _ Elias has brown eyes. _ ”

You realize that your breathing is a little uneven, though from fear or anger or excitement you couldn’t possibly tell.

“So,” you say again. “Who. Are you?”

The man wearing Elias’s face has let it slip into a mask of boredom and disdain as he looks dully at you.

For a moment, you think he’s not going to answer.

Then, he smiles. 

“You’re quite right,” he sighs as he inspects his nails, and you relax now that you no longer feel pinned under his gaze. (You hadn’t even realized how tense you were.) “I’m impressed. Most people never realize it, though I suppose you have the advantage of having known the ah,  _ original _ Elias Bouchard. Rather intimately, if I understand it.”

You bristle at that comment but stay silent all the same.

“If you’re waiting for more information on the topic, I would suggest… well, not doing so. I’m not in the habit of exposing my secrets unless absolutely necessary.”

“Who are you,” you demand again.

“I’m Elias Bouchard.”

“Don’t  _ fuck _ with me, who  _ are  _ you.”

“At least at the moment, I am, for all intents and purposes, Elias Bouchard.”

“You’re…” you take a deep breath. “Okay. If you  _ insist _ on calling yourself Elias, what happened to  _ my _ Elias?”

“Oh, he’s dead. He’s very dead.”

You inhale sharply and try not to panic. “I see.”

“To answer the question you didn’t ask, I will kill you if I need to. Try to see that I don’t need to; I would hate to ruin another suit.”

You swallow hard. “I’ll try my best.”

“Good.” He smiles thinly at you. “It was lovely seeing you again Bl—ah, but you don’t want me to call you that anymore, do you?”

“ _ You _ never called me that to begin with.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” he concedes with a nod of his head. “I’ll call you  _ Jay, _ then, shall I? How wonderfully ironic.”

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but maybe it would be better if you didn’t call me at all.” 

“You are adorably loyal.” His voice is wry and condescending. “Well, I’m still at the Magnus Institute. When you drop by—and I’m afraid it is a forgone conclusion that you  _ will _ —I’m head of the Institute now. I’ll give you a tour.”

“I think I know enough about the interior of the Magnus Institute,” you snap, your heart beating a little faster. You don’t like this. You don’t like his predictions and the way he  _ looks _ at you, you don’t like the cruel twist of his mouth that looks so out of place on  _ Elias, _ the Elias you  _ knew. _

“Ah, I suppose that’s true. You know all the secret hideaways where you can get high and make out. What a complete knowledge you have of my Institute.”

“Shut up,” you say. “Shut up, I don’t want to talk to you anymore. I’m going to leave now, and you’re not going to talk to me anymore. I don’t want to call you, you’re not going to call me, I’m not going to visit, and we’re going to happily avoid each other for the rest of our lives. I’m not going to tell anyone… what I know about Elias Bouchard, and you’re going to not kill me, and we’ll never have to interact again.”

“You say that,” he says in a dismissive tone, “but I’m afraid you’re at the disadvantage here. You don’t know anything about me. I know everything Elias knew about you. And I know all about your  _ insatiable  _ curiosity.”

“Stop  _ talking, _ ” you hiss as you stand up. “I’m leaving now.  _ Don’t _ contact me.”

“Goodbye, Jay,” he says jovially. “I’ll be seeing you.”

“Fuck you,” you tell him, and you walk out the door.

* * *

The problem is, though.

The issue is that. 

Elias Bouchard? The  _ real _ one, and not whoever the hell was wearing his face? He…  _ did _ know you.

You’re clicking your pen absently as you try to focus on the screen in front of you. You have an important email to send.

Elias Bouchard  _ did _ know you. Very well, really. He knew all about how you muttered song lyrics to yourself, the little squares you would doodle on your work. He knew about your hopes and dreams, he knew your favorite food and the movies that always made you cry, and he was  _ very _ well aware of your. Well.

Your insatiable curiosity.

You click your pen.

At some point in your discussion, Elias—the fake one, the  _ new _ one—had slipped a business card into your bag.

Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute.

_ What happened? _

You don’t want to know. You don’t  _ need _ to know. You think that if you find out, if you learn, you’ll get torn apart. The knowledge of what happened to Elias Bouchard will drag you into a strange world you will not be able to escape from, and you will only wind up destroying yourself.

You can’t let that happen. You don’t want that to happen. You’re perfectly satisfied with your current life and you  _ don’t _ need to fuck that up.

You will not visit the Magnus Institute.

* * *

You find yourself in front of the Magnus Institute.

(The other problem is, of course, that you cannot resist a silver fox with leather gloves and a Rolex if your life depended on it.)

Elias is waiting for you when you enter.

“Good morning, Jay. I’m glad you came.”

“I’m sure you are,” you say breezily and walk up closer, just for the pleasure of looking down on him.

“Shall we begin with a tour?” he says, his grin far too smug.

You don’t want to start with a tour. You don’t want to talk to him. You don’t want to get sucked into this world that killed your old friend, your old lover, you don’t want to meet with the same fate, or something worse, as the sweet man who laughed loudly and kissed dramatically and smiled as often as possible.

You smile nastily down at the man who wears Elias’s face.

“Try to keep up, old man,” you sigh as you brush past him. “I’m going to see what’s new in Artefact Storage.”

This will probably be the death of you.

You can feel Elias’s smile grow sharp, hide razor blades, you can feel his eyes burn into the back of your neck. His hand comes to rest against the small of your back as he leads you down the familiar hallways.

You almost can’t wait.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bluezaffre)!!
> 
> also pls no one confront me as to exactly how many of my titles are david bowie lyrics,,, i know okay i just like him alright


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